Tuesday, March 13, 2018

40/100


Pour into me

As the river

In the moments that I am whole



As if flowing water is something that I know.



In concepts of home

And peace



abandoned like footprints in time

That never lead anywhere

empty as their apathy

sensitive to their nature.



Experiencing it more as time than as space

As though existence for all is a kind of frustration

No matter how it’s sliced



Like so many nicks

in our fingertips,

Bruises on our psyche,

Chainsaws to our limbs  



allocations of nervous tissue

empty beyond our personal experience  

as if I am hearing them shriek in terror

worthless to come to their aid





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